4. Reed #2
“Could everyone stop saying the word ‘setup?’” Luke leans closer, his voice down an octave as if he’s the only adult in the room. “If Jovie hears you, she’ll want in on this conversation.”
“Oh, honey.” Mom’s reassuring smile holds more emotions than one look rightfully should. Sorrow. Hope. Understanding. “She thinks you’re ready?”
“She thinks she’s ready for me to be ready.” Luke’s grimace is much more straightforward than Mom’s expression. “She keeps talking about dating apps and asking if I ever meet nice women in the hardware store.”
“I certainly did.” Dad snugs Mom close against his side. He’ll tell the story about meeting her in the fixtures aisle if he gets the chance.
Luke points at the two of them cuddled together. “That doesn’t help. Jovie’s convinced someone great will waltz through the doors any day now.”
“Someone could.”
Dad’s gentle encouragement slams up against Luke’s stern face. None of us know what it’s like to lose a spouse and become a single parent, but ten years is a long time to be alone. Maybe he plans to stay that way the rest of his life.
If so, it sounds like Jovie will have some objections to that.
“I’ll ask her to have a sleepover with me one night this week,” Lucy says. “Get in some girl time so maybe she’ll give you a break.”
Luke’s expression melts into relief. “She would love that. Thank you.”
“But since it’s on the table now, I’ve got two single coworkers who are so sweet and—”
He throws a hand up between them. “I’ll let you know.”
Her shoulders sag back down. “Fine.”
I watch Lucy, waiting for the argument. None comes. “That’s it? No insistence? No showing up at his place of business to interfere in his life?”
“I trust Luke to know what’s best for him.” She lifts an eyebrow at me, telegraphing the part she’s not saying out loud.
“I know what’s best for me.” I sound like a child even to my own ears.
Mom and Dad give me identical indulgent looks. Even Luke’s got a smirk going. Great.
“I don’t need a setup.” As if repeating it will make everyone believe it.
“Let’s stop giving him a hard time,” Mom says. “He’ll figure it out.”
I would ask what she thinks I’m going to figure out, but that would just throw gasoline on this tire fire.
Mom and Dad leave the dining room, heading toward the shouting that signals Jovie is still battling it out with Nathan and Graham.
Lucy walks past me, too, but not without sending me a triumphant look.
She’s absolutely not letting the setup thing go.
That just leaves Luke and me in the dining room. He’s watching me with unbroken eye contact the way he used to when we were kids and he wanted to get a confession out of me. Since I haven’t destroyed one of his Lego sets in years, I have nothing to confess.
“What?”
“How are things at Perk Me Up?” At least he drops his voice. He’s not looking to make this a family spectacle the way Lucy does every conversation we have. “Poor foam art aside.”
“It’s fine.”
Luke goes on staring, waiting for more. Assessing me. Drawing conclusions with everything I refuse to say. His cool calm always drove me crazy as a teen. Still does, to tell the truth.
“I heard you’re going to be a vendor at the concert series,” he says.
“How does everyone know about that?”
“It’s on Sunshine’s social media.” He rakes that assessing gaze over me again. “But you’re not on social media, are you? Who handles Perk Me Up’s socials?”
“Rose does all that.” I have to hold back whatever sappy thing my face wants to do when I recall the horrified sound she made when she realized the shop didn’t have any social media presence. I absolutely refuse to think about the much happier sound she made when I agreed to let her run it.
I spend a lot of time trying not to think about Rose’s happy sounds.
He nods. “Makes sense. The point is, despite your rocky start, it sounds like you’re finally settling into small business ownership.”
Rocky start. That’s a nice way of putting it.
I was thrown into the deep end and spent a year fighting for my life to stay afloat.
We managed, but only because of Troy and Rose.
Not me. The second year has been better, but again, it’s not down to my amazing skills as a coffee shop manager.
The role still fits like a too-tight shirt I put on day after day, even though it chafes me.
Luke claps me briefly on the shoulder. “Good for you, is what I’m trying to say. You’ve got this.”
I nod, unable to say anything. His moment of big-brotherly motivation over, Luke joins the rest of the family in the living room, leaving me alone with the lingering echo of his encouragement.
It doesn’t sit right, like a nut threaded at an angle on a bolt. I never set out to own and manage a coffee shop. Half the time, I don’t know what I’m doing. These last couple of years have been a trial by fire, and I’m still putting out flames.
Luke wouldn’t congratulate me if he knew I met with a realtor a few months ago.
Just to talk. Nothing’s in writing. She seemed to think I could sell the shop pretty easily if I ever decided to take the nuclear option.
Instead of settling my thoughts, that information only stirred my anxiety over it higher.
I could cut my losses and go back to the job I actually enjoyed.
But in the process, I’d be betraying my friend.
I’ll never know what Harry was thinking when he left everything he had to me. It sounds like the punchline to a joke: Did you hear the one about the small-town loner who was secretly a millionaire? He left everything to his fishing buddy and never told him why.
Do better is the only insight he left for me, and that handwritten note’s not much to go on.
Do better than what? The previous coffee shop owner?
Myself? Harry wasn’t blood, but he became like family to me.
Taking on the responsibilities of the shop he left me, no matter how ill-suited I am to the task, was the obvious choice.
Not knowing what he wanted me to improve on has torn me up almost as much as my incompetence in the shop.
But accepting defeat and getting rid of it would mean not even trying to live up to his last wishes. I can’t bring myself to do that. Not yet.